


if it's a friend you need

by starlight_sugar



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_sugar/pseuds/starlight_sugar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When do coworkers not make your job harder?”</p><p>The story of Raven, a customer, and a little too much whiskey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if it's a friend you need

**Author's Note:**

> This is my present for [The Hundred Ladies](http://thehundredladies.tumblr.com) holiday exchange and it goes out to tumblr user [nightvaldez.](http://nightvaldez.tumblr.com) Happy December! Hope you enjoy! c:
> 
> Warnings apply for drinking (it is, in fact, set in a bar); title comes from [Let It Be Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5LWpw3CMCEg) by Ray LaMontagne.

“It’s not anything I’m doing wrong,” Blondie says mournfully. “I’m just so tired of working with her and her stuck-up face and her really pretty hair and her awful everything.”

“Mmhm,” Raven says, not pausing in wiping down the counter. “Awful except for the pretty hair?”

“That makes it even worse,” Blondie sighs, pillowing her head in her arms. “It’d be easy to hate her if she were a total witch, but she’s witch with great hair and a cute laugh and so I end up feeling guilty for not liking her.”

“She’s making your job harder.”

“When do coworkers not make your job harder?”

Blondie has a point, Raven has to admit it. She loves everyone who works in this bar, but sometimes she wants to throttle them. It’s just how friendship goes. But she gets the feeling that her irritation with Jasper and Monty is a little friendlier than what Blondie thinks of this girl. For one thing, Jasper and Monty have never driven her to get drunk on a Thursday night.

“All right, sweetheart, I think you’ve had enough,” Raven decides. She reaches over and plucks the shotglass out of Blondie’s hand, ignoring the way she whines. “You need me to start up a tab, or are you sober enough to pay?”

“I can pay,” Blondie mutters, shoving a hand into her pocket. “I’m going to make her pay. She’s the worst. Doesn’t listen to anything I have to say. It’s my project too, she should listen. You listen.”

“I do listen,” Raven agrees. “I’m listening to someone who probably needs me to call a cab for her.”

“I can call a cab for myself,” Blondie says haughtily. “I would rather have you at work so I have someone who will listen to me there. Keep the change.” She slaps a few bills on the counter and pushes herself upright. Given how non-sober she is, Raven is surprised to see how sober she looks: chin up, shoulders back, looking every bit like a businesswoman as she walks out. Maybe Blondie is a businesswoman. She never said.

“All right,” Raven sighs to herself. There are a couple other people nursing drinks in corners, so she snatches up the bills quick as she can and-

-and it’s three fifty-dollar bills.

There’s a snap second where Raven can’t process it. Customers don’t leave tips that big. They just don’t. Not even drunk probable businesswomen who needed someone to listen to them whine about a coworker.

“Counterfeit,” she says aloud. No fucking way they’re real.

As it turns out, all three bills are very real, and Raven makes bank that night. She’d say she earned it. Blondie spent more than an hour talking to her about some bitchy coworker. She wishes she got tipped that much all the time. She deserves it. Blondie’s story isn’t nearly as bad as some that she’s heard.

.

Blondie comes back on Saturday afternoon, looking surly. Her face seems to lift as soon as she lays eyes on Raven. “Hey.”

“Welcome back, blondie,” Raven says, leaning on the counter. “Any luck with the coworker?”

Blondie’s face immediately clouds back over. “I wouldn’t be here if I had any luck,” she mutters. “Can I get something strong?”

“We have a lot of strong things, I’m going to need you to be more specific.”

“With a lot of alcohol,” Blondie says, giving Raven the dryest look she can. “I don’t care. Don’t break the bank, but make it good.”

“I feel like it’d take a lot to break your bank,” Raven remarks, but she grabs her cane and hobbles over to where they keep the nicer stuff. “Whiskey?”

“God, yes, perfect,” Blondie sighs, sinking onto the same stool by the counter. “You can read my mind and I love you.”

Raven glances over her shoulder, not even bothering to hide her amusement. “Do you normally declare your love for bartenders, or am I special?”

“You listened to me complain about life for a while last time, that makes you special in my book.”

 _That tip made me feel special,_ Raven thinks, but she stops before she says it. There’s always a chance Blondie was too drunk to realize she put out three fifties instead of two. Instead, she plucks out a bottle and gets ready to pour. “All right, this’ll cure what ails you. Now start talking, tell me about how wrong this project is going.”

By the time Blondie is done ranting, she’s teetering between tipsy and drunk. Raven can tell because she seems more sad than angry at the end of it.

“I just want to get it done,” she says, and Raven feels a pang of sympathy.

“You’re gonna figure it out,” Raven says, patting Blondie on the shoulder. “My shift’s over, but you’re going to be fine.”

“Don’t leave,” Blondie moans, burying her head in her arms. Raven takes the opportunity to get the fuck out of dodge. Good tip or not, there’s only so much she can deal with in one day.

.

Raven remembers a point in time where she could do anything.

Or, well, not anything, but damn near anything she wanted to. She was going to fly planes. She was going to be good at it, too. She was going to be what she wanted to be when she grew up, right up until she woke up one day and her left knee wouldn’t bend.

Raven barely understands the medical shit and she doesn’t need to. All she knows is that she can’t fly, so she drank for a while and then realized that she was even better at making drinks than drinking them, so that became her thing. Raven the bartender, Raven the patient one, Raven who might not take shit but she’ll mix a cocktail so good that you’ll never consider giving her shit to begin with.

It’s not what she wanted to be when she grew up, but she’ll settle for it. It’s a good life she lives, and she won’t take it for granted. Even if some days it hurts too bad to breathe and she’ll never be what she wanted, she has enough to be content most days.

Most days.

.

“You know, if you keep coming in here, you’re gonna have to tell me your name eventually,” Raven jokes around the third time Blondie comes in.

“Clarke,” Blondie answers without missing a beat. Raven’s almost startled by how easily she answers, but she doesn’t let it show. “And can I hear the name of the woman who knows more about my problems at work than most of my coworkers?”

“Raven Reyes, at your service.” Raven gives Clarke a mocking bow. “Do you need any whiskey to get started?”

“I need a lot of whiskey to get me started,” Clarke mutters, plopping down at the same stool. “It’s the key ingredient to working in children’s books. Alcohol.”

Raven has to stifle a laugh as she goes for the whiskey. “You work in kids’ books?”

“I’m an illustrator.”

Not a businesswoman, then. “And the coworker you hate is?”

“An author.” When Raven glances over her shoulder, Clarke is slumped forward onto the counter. “And she’s a good one too. Which makes it worse.”

“How is it worse?”

“Because I’m good, and she’s good, and we’re just too different, and this book is going to suck because of it.”

Raven grimaces as she sets a shot of whiskey in front of Clarke. “Don’t say that. You’re not complaining about her as much anymore.”

“That’s because I’ve given up,” Clarke says, not going for the shot. “I’m dead inside. I’m past the point of reasoning with her. I’m just going to let her make this book ugly and it won’t be my fault.”

“Bullshit you are.”

Clarke lifts her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve known you for less than a week, and you’re not going to give up without a fight.” Raven leans onto the counter, looking at Clarke seriously. “You’re going to do what she wants, and you’re going to do what you want, and then you’re going to find a way to make them meet in the middle. You’ll figure it out.”

Clarke stares at her for a solid thirty seconds, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Raven goes back to arranging bottles.

“I’ll drink to that,” Clarke says after a minute, and Raven grins to herself.

.

Clarke keeps coming in, tipping well every time, and the strangest thing happens: after a while, she stops complaining about her coworker.

The day Raven finally asks why, it’s sadly not because of much genuine interest. It’s mostly because her knee has been aching all day and she needs something to distract her from it. And also because she’s curious.

“I took your advice,” Clarke says, not noticing that Raven is in deep fucking pain. “I tried coloring things the way she wanted them and then the way I wanted them, and I blended it together. She wasn’t happy, but neither was I, so I think that’s what a compromise really is.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” Raven mutters.

Clarke frowns. “Are you okay? You look a little grey in the face.”

“I can’t feel my left knee,” Raven says cheerfully.

Almost on cue, Monroe walks through the door. She points at Raven accusingly. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Raven answers immediately.

Clarke turns to Monroe. “Something about pain in her left knee.”

Monroe sighs exasperatedly. “Goddammit, Raven, sit down, your shift’s ending now.”

“Monroe,” Raven says pleadingly. It’s not that she can’t afford her shift ending a few hours early, but god, life is a little easier when she doesn’t lose those hours.

“Sit your goddamn ass down,” Monroe says firmly. “I’ll pour one out for you, on the house. Take a seat.”

Clarke pulls out the stool next to her and raises her eyebrows. “Do you need me to run to the pharmacy?”

“Absofuckinglutely not,” Raven sighs, and grabs her cane. It’s thirty seconds of agony getting out from behind the counter, but she stretches her leg out in front of her and sighs in relief.

“Good call,” Clarke says wryly, but there’s real concern in her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I refuse to not be okay,” Raven mutters, rubbing at her knee lightly. Monroe sets down a glass next to her, but Raven barely notices.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Clarke says firmly, and stands up. “I have to go, I have other things that need to get done, but hey-” she reaches for a napkin and pulls a pen out from behind her ear, scribbling something down. “Seriously, if you need a ride home or someone to bring you chicken soup or something-”

“I’m injured, not ill,” Raven mutters.

Clarke ignores her. “Then call me. I might even need an escape from work.” She slides the napkin over to Raven and looks at her expectantly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Raven folds the napkin and slips it into her pocket. “Have a good night.”

Clarke hesitates and then leans in, wrapping her arms lightly around Raven’s shoulder. “Thank you for listening,” she says, altogether too heartfelt.

Raven bites her lip. “Thank you for talking,” she says at last, and tries to remember the last friend she made outside of work. She thinks she might have one more now.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://officialseancassidy.tumblr.com)


End file.
